Stitches⚣Stony

Twenty-Nine

It must've been bad because Steve can still remember the way in which Bucky had looked at him, talked to him as if he was a child who had just witnessed something tremendously awful like pulling on the cats tail or drawing a crude picture on the wall. He can still remember how, as he left, everyone who remained in his barracks had refused to make eye contact with him, shied away at his wondering eye, questioning look, nod of a head.

Steve has become haunted in more ways than one.

Steve would never forget the look on Tony's face the night that he turned up on his doorstep, shaking and pleading as Steve had spat venom at him, snarled his lip, spoke to Tony in a way that Steve had never thought that he would because he had never thought Tony would betray him like he had. And was it really a betrayal, or was it more the fact that Steve had felt used, taken advantaged of, embarrassed that he had let a complete stranger into his life, into his home, only to be exposed as more of a stranger than Steve had wanted himself not to believe.

But nevertheless if Steve had felt all those emotions, that he had felt more battered and bruised in those last moments he had with Tony than any street fight or scrap he had been involved in, he still longed for him. Tonys touch had still lingered in places where his hands had smoothed over, his lips had placed butterfly soft kisses upon, his foot had gently pressed against, his body had leaned into. Tony's touch was a ghostly reminder, something to gravitate towards when he was pressed flat to a dusted road in a tattered country of bullets and bombs.

Despite it all, Tony had still floated in and out of Steve's thoughts in the oddest of moments after he had enlisted and served. He still longed for his touch as he was camped out on dusty wastelands, awaiting for a war criminal or an enemy to strike. Steve would still find himself wanting to rush to his mobile phone and type out a message to Tony about a new type of coffee he has come across, or how Tony's 'bots would put the Army's to shame. Or that Steve's nose was still haunted by the smell of Tony; of freshly ground coffee, of motor oil and grease, of sweet, expensive cigarettes imported from Turkey.

But Steve's notions would suddenly become tainted when reminded that he no longer had that privilege of texting Tony, of telling him of his latest trek through the desert or of how Bucky recently gotten on his nerves, treating him like a kid with a bad temper or what not. He would suddenly be pricked with the realisation, even after all those years, that Tony was no longer his, not as if he was his in the first place.

And so, Steve would shake himself off, preserver because then he would be reminded that there were a lot bigger problems in this world than Steve's desert dry love life, or the fact that he's still pinning after a man no Steve hadn't heard from in years. He has had heard so much about him, however, especially upon the announcement of the gracious Stark Insurance that newly entrusted Tony Stark had established for the men and women fighting for America's front, a gesture to wave over the gossip of where or who exactly Stark Weapons was being manufactured for had begun to appear.

Steve heard of Tony, but he never spoke of him because he had bigger problems to deal with, and that bigger problem just so happened to be Bucky and his accident, so much more vital and important than Steve and his own.

As Steve walks away from the hospital, there's a car cruising along the side of the road and all of Steve's anxious, army fuelled skittishness seems to flare up in those moments that with every step and every turn that Steve seems to make, the car follows. He's about to break into a jog, loose the car as he dodges into an ally way and jumps a couple of fences when the car speeds up, as if almost sensing Steve's intentions, and the window is rolled down, revealing a familiar face with just as vivid, red familiar hair.

"Get in."She says, sunglasses perched on her nose, the dark tint of the shades contrasting against her porcelain skin, smooth as it was back when she was 17 and doing donuts in a parking lot as she waited for Steve or Bucky or Clint to come stumbling out of ER with the latest scar to their growing collection. The anxiety within Steve jolts a little, melting away when he realises who it is, but he's not over all convinced of her reason being here.